


Convex, Concave

by thingsKTsays



Series: Going Bhakti Basics [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 10:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4742843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsKTsays/pseuds/thingsKTsays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick gets intimate with Jonny's root chakra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Convex, Concave

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to my enabling and encouraging friends, and especially **M** for the beta (and SO MUCH ENABLING. YOU ARE THE WORST. ily), and **k** for the summary (you are also The Worst. I also love you). Also, **T** , who always lets me ramble at her when I need it.
> 
> The pose Jonny is doing here is the Cow/Cat Pose.

They’ve left the adjoining doors open again, because they both agree that rattling around a hotel room alone when you’re not ready to sleep sucks a lot of the time. Like right now. It sucks.

Patrick has gone through every available TV channel twice and found nothing to watch. He’s opened and closed the web browser on his laptop, each time thinking maybe he wants to surf the internet, before realizing that no, no he really couldn’t care less. His phone has been silent, and he doesn’t feel like listening to music.

He’s so fucking bored, and it’ll be at least an hour and a half before he’s ready to sleep.

Except that the door to Jonny’s room is open, and as boring as Jonny is, he isn’t _boring_ , really. At least, Patrick is never bored around him.

He walks right into Jonny’s room without bothering to knock or announce his presence. If Jonny was jerking off he would have closed the door, but he didn’t, so it’s fine for Patrick to just come on in. That’s the way it’s always been, since the lockout.

Patrick throws himself across Jonny’s bed, starfishing and groaning when his face presses into the pillows at the head of the bed. He lets himself have a moment, breathing in the faint traces of Jonny’s shampoo lingering on the cloth from his afternoon nap, before raising his head and bothering to look around the room. At first glance he thinks it’s empty, so he rolls to the side of the bed with a frown, but then he sees Jonny, on the ground beside the bed.

Normally, Patrick would have something to say about Jonny, on the floor and doing… weird stretches? Definitely some kind of hippie shit that he picked up from his (inferior, dumb, loser) non-hockey friends in Chicago. Probably something witty, and biting, and completely deserved. Except…

Except Jonny is spread out on a mat on the floor, in just his obscene boxer briefs that cling to his ass marvelously. And Patrick is immune to the sight by now, right? He spent _years_ watching Jonny walk around in just his underwear the second they hit the hotel room, before and after games in the locker room, whenever Patrick showed up at Jonny’s apartment – it’s always just tiny, tight, grey or black boxer briefs clinging to ass and thighs, everywhere Patrick looks. He’s officially Over It. He has Moved On. It’s not that impressive anymore, it really isn’t. Old news.

Or it was.

Because normally Jonny’s ass isn't right in his face. Like, right there. In Patrick’s face. Immediately in front of his eyes. Jonny’s on his hands and knees, facing away from where Patrick’s head is hanging off the edge, doing _something_ with his hips, arching his back and then pushing his ass out, slowly and methodically and over and over, and Patrick just can’t.

Every time Jonny moves from arching his back up to flexing it down, the line of his spine shifting from concave to convex, his gorgeous ass tilts up, closer to Patrick’s face, to his mouth, stuck hanging open as he breaths heavily because he just doesn’t have the brainpower to close it again. Jonny’s breathing in slow, measured breaths, timed to the rhythmic flowing movement. He pushes his hips back, right as Patrick breathes out, and Patrick can see a small tremor run up Jonny’s spine just as his head lifts, tilting back to face the ceiling.

Jonny shifts side to side on his hands, his shoulders tensing and relaxing before he exhales heavily. Convex, concave. Jonny drops his head between his arms, and from Patrick’s position he can just see him lick his lips slightly. His inhale is choppy, and without thinking Patrick mirrors it. Concave, inhale. Convex, exhale, and Patrick’s mouth has to be only inches away from the soft cotton covering Jonny’s ass. If he leaned forward, he could get his mouth on it, bite and lick at the soft skin, tuck his head down and kiss at the crease between his muscled ass cheek and strong thighs. He wants to pull down Jonny’s boxer briefs, see where his summer tanline is, because it has to be just a bit higher on his thighs than the line of his underwear, going by the deep tan creeping all the way up Jonny’s legs.

Convex, and Jonny is hitting a deeper stretch, now. His body shifts, his chest getting closer to the floor, back flexing as his ass pushes back, and back, and back, and Patrick is panting wetly, must be getting hot breath filtering through cotton right over Jonny’s hole. He’s panting, and Jonny is gasping, and it must be uncomfortable, feeling Patrick’s breath over his ass like that, but Jonny just shudders and groans, head falling as he pulls his ass away, back arching up quickly, his hips pulling forward, a thrust-like motion, quick and sharp and nothing like the slow and careful movements of earlier.

Neither of them have said anything yet, the only sounds in the room their shared breathing, still in sync even though Patrick is finding it harder and harder to inhale. His dick is chubbing up, trapped between his belly and the bed, and without thinking about it he shifts his hips in time with Jonny’s.

Patrick’s grinding his hips down as Jonny flexes, convex, ass up and back and up, closer and closer to Patrick’s mouth, until it’s right there, close enough that he could bury his face in the crease of Jonny’s ass, stick out his tongue and lick a line all the way down, soak the stretched cotton with his mouth. Patrick’s eyelids flutter. Between the hot grinding pressure on his dick, the smell of Jonny’s light sweat surrounding him, the tantalizing nearness of his ass, Patrick is just _gone_.

Concave, a quick thrust forward, hips curving and back arching and Patrick mirrors him, dragging his hips in, the friction from his pajama pants rubbing along the bed making him gasp as he inhales. He licks his lips, and waits for a moment, tries to control his breathing.

Jonny’s shoulders are shaking, his arms trembling where they hold him up, but there it is - slow and deliberate, convex, up and back, right there, until all Patrick can see is Jonny’s delicious ass, light grey cotton just begging to be turned dark with spit. He grinds down, circling his hips, holding in a moan, and he can’t help himself.

He leans his head in, closer and closer, until he’s pushed between the cheeks of Jonny’s ass. He’s so hard, so turned on, and he gasps open-mouthed, looking down the curve of Jonny’s back as he lets his tongue soak the cotton, feeling Jonny’s rim underneath. Someone whimpers, and Patrick honestly has no clue who it is, it doesn’t matter. He wants to shove his tongue inside Jonny, wants to grab his hips and pull his underwear down, over his ass and bracketing his thighs, hold him still until Patrick had his fill, until Jonny’s a moaning, writhing mess in his hands. He wants _so bad_ , but before he can do anything Jonny moves, humping the air and pulling out of Patrick’s reach, and this time it’s definitely Patrick who whimpers.

His hips drag up along the bed, sharp and electric, and Jonny must wish he had something to push into like Patrick has, must wish he could rub his dick and get some friction and _get off_ , because Patrick has all that and he’s still so desperate, still needs more. He needs so much more, and they inhale together, concave, exhale slowly, convex, and Patrick doesn’t hesitate this time.

He reaches out with both hands, fingers wrapping tightly around Jonny’s hips, tilting them up and closer forcefully, pulling back until his mouth is back where he wants it, tongue flicking out over and over again, only pulling back to bite lightly at each cheek of Jonny’s ass, diving back in to lick a hot stripe right up the middle. He’s grinding his hips against the bed in circles, then side to side, then just flat-out thrusting against the bed, wishing he was shoving his dick into something, all control lost as he imagines how Jonny must taste beneath the soaked cotton under his tongue, his ears ringing with the deep moans spilling from Jonny’s lips.

Jonny’s hips twitch, his thighs tensing as he pulls against Patrick’s hold, because convex leads to concave, exhale to inhale, but Patrick won’t let him, is probably holding onto Jonny’s hips so tightly he’s leaving fingertip-shaped bruises, but it doesn’t matter. Jonny’s boxer briefs are soaked, the light grey turned dark under Patrick’s mouth and he still can’t get enough.

He wants to _devour_ Jonny.

And he just - melts into it. As if all this time there had been some tension in him, holding him back, but now it’s gone, and his hips tilt back and up, more than before, giving Patrick a mouthful of Jonny’s ass, and it’s everything Patrick has ever wanted, even if he didn’t know it before this moment. He moans, and when the vibrations hit Jonny he echoes it, pushing back with his thighs as if he needs more of Patrick eating him out, getting him wet, pushing in with his tongue, harder and harder, and Jonny must know that Patrick is just dying to rip away his underwear, get his tongue in there for real.

Everything is _so good_ , and Patrick is going to come, he knows it. He’s choking on air, too desperate for the taste of Jonny to pull back enough to inhale properly, and he couldn’t stop his hips from fucking against the bed if he tried. His hands move from Jonny’s hips to his ass, cupping the strong swell of his ass cheeks, fingers massaging in, then his hands spreading, letting his tongue push the cotton up against Jonny’s rim, the wet fabric stretching, giving, until Patrick’s tongue meets the soft resistance of his hole, then pushing past that, pushing in.

His tongue is _inside of Jonny_ , and Patrick can't breath, can only drown in Jonny’s moans, higher in pitch, desperate and loud. He can only hold Jonny’s ass still as his whole body trembles, the arms holding him up collapsing down to his elbows, his face pressed into the floor, _whining_. Patrick’s going to come, he’s going to come, because Jonny is so hot and tastes so good, even through the thin cotton, and he wants to come so bad but he never wants this to stop, can’t even think beyond this moment and doing this forever, and Jonny squirms, hard, his hips jolting. One of Patrick’s hand slips from where it’s holding Jonny open, brushing in and down, skirting over his soaking boxer briefs and rubbing up behind Jonny’s balls, and Jonny - 

Jonny comes, he must, and Patrick is coming, can do nothing in the face of that except let go, body shaking and shaking as he soaks his pajama pants. And Jonny is still coming, a jerky, unconscious movement, convex to concave, and then right back; convex as he comes in his boxer briefs, as he moans and twitches, and Patrick rolls his hips, slow and soft in the afterglow.

Convex, and Patrick can see Jonny’s ass muscles flex, can see the dark, wet line from his mouth stretching from top to bottom.

Concave, and Patrick flips back over onto the bed with a heavy breath.

Convex, and Jonny tilts his head to the side, resting his cheek against the carpeted hotel room floor.

Concave, convex. “Namaste,” Jonny mutters, voice wrecked and hazy with pleasure.

All Patrick can do is laugh weakly.

He knew hanging out with Jonny was a good idea.

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
